


The Life I Owe

by elsewherewolf



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Asphyxiation Kink, Community: pacificrimkink, Father/Son Incest, M/M, bottom!Herc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 01:49:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsewherewolf/pseuds/elsewherewolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a little scene - maybe it's role reversal, with Chuck holding Herc's life in his hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Life I Owe

Herc kneels in the ruins of their bed, knees apart and his cock thick and warm across his palm. He's simply holding its weight, every muscle tense as he listens to the door close behind him. He hears Chuck's jacket being slung over the back of a chair, the heavy sound of his boots as he moves around the room before finally coming to stand beside the bed, behind Herc. A little closer, and Herc feels the soft cotton of Chuck's t-shirt against his skin, warm across his shoulders as Chuck leans over him slightly, wraps an arm across his chest and kisses the top of his jaw.

Herc relaxes slightly when Chuck's chin comes to rest on his shoulder, knows exactly what he's looking at.

"You want to come, dad?"

Herc nods, leaning back against Chuck because he knows he can, knows his son will simply take his weight, that it's what he wants. His father, reduced to needing him like this. Chuck's hard in his pants; Herc feels it pressing against his lower back and it makes him ache, just to know that he's still attractive enough to turn Chuck on like he does. The first time they fell into bed together, that was what stood out for him. That Chuck revered his body the way he did, almost to the point of envy. 

Chuck's arm moves, comes up and tucks beneath Herc's chin instead, and he closes his eyes, hoping. 

He used to take this as some kind of punishment for all the shit he got wrong in Chuck's eyes, but somewhere along the way it shifted the way their relationship has, and now it's simply about Chuck knowing him inside and out, sometimes understanding him better than he does himself, and giving him exactly what he needs, the same way Herc does for him.

The arm tightens, slowly, pressing up into Herc's windpipe, and he doesn't fight it. 

"I'm sorry I took so long," Chuck murmurs by his ear, reaching to take Herc's cock into his own hand. "But you forgive me, don't you?"

Herc nods, though it hurts a little, and he can't get enough air any more, feels a little light-headed. The world narrows to Chuck's warm fingers encircling him, the caress of his shirt and the press of his cock through thick, stiff fabric. 

His head starts to swim, pleasure warring with a need for oxygen, and Chuck must feel it in him because the arm eases up just a little, enough for Herc to take a few gasping breaths, fill his lungs the best he can while Chuck strokes him, rough and purposeful. 

Fingertips touch his bruised throat, pressing in here and there just to make Herc wince, little jolts going straight to his cock, and Chuck keeps doing it, keeps massaging too hard against his windpipe until it's too fucking much and Herc comes, curled over in a way that leaves Chuck's hand too tight around his neck, and he feels tears hot at the edges of his eyes and a terrible, beautiful sense of lost control that ends in a fall. Onto the bed, his spent cock beneath him and an unpleasant dampness on the sheets beneath him where he came. 

He tries to blink the spots away from the edges of his vision, while Chuck gets up on the bed, straddles his hips and drags his fingers roughly down Herc's spine. It reminds him of the clamp, his drivesuit, and he groans, fighting off a heavy, soft desire to sleep. 

"You're so fucking hot like this, dad," Chuck mutters, rolling against him, slow. "I love it."

Herc manages to turn his head a little, though it hurts to do so. Chuck bends over him, and the hand that touches his throat is tender this time, stroking the marks he's left behind. "Was it what you wanted?"

"You wouldn't have done it if it wasn't," Herc says, hoarse. His eyes close when Chuck's fingers slip up and through his hair, gentle in ways they rarely are with each other. It's worth the surrender, it's worth the bruises around his throat that he can never explain, only hide away to keep for himself. He'll look at them through the day and think of his son, and it's better somehow than a picture in his wallet. Maybe it's guilt, for how he's handled Chuck's life in the past, as if it was his own to shape and use and, ultimately, agree to throw away. Maybe it's guilt, and this is his penance.

He's still alive, and Chuck holds that in his hands every day and sometimes, somehow, it's even better than the drift.


End file.
